


Sugar Daddy of the Year

by ImJaebabie



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Feelings Realization, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Relationship Negotiation, Strangers to Lovers, Sugar Baby, Sugar Daddy, contractual relationships, everyone is consenting adults
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:15:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26378668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImJaebabie/pseuds/ImJaebabie
Summary: Their idea was simple and well-intentioned, if a little unorthodox—as was being a sugar baby. And with the overall sugar arrangement working out so flawlessly, surely this small token of appreciation would follow suit.
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee/Moon Taeil, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Moon Taeil, Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin
Comments: 176
Kudos: 219





	1. Paved with Good Intentions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good afternoon. 
> 
> i am literally about to vibrate out of my skin at actually posting this.  
> "but wendy, this looks goofy as hell, what's the big deal?"  
> quite right, quite right, however consider: i have been working on this for over a year & there is SO much still to be done, but please believe this is only the beginning of Much. i have a lot planned. with the absolutely invaluable support of anne/speckledsolanaceae, without whom it might never have seen the light of ao3 post, i will bring it all to u. 
> 
> if u prefer to wait till things r complete to read, i understand, but know that this will be developing & may even include something ~interactive~, so consider following along! my aim is to update fairly consistently, even though that's not my usual MO, & while i don't have the schedule worked out just yet i intend to define it fairly soon. 
> 
> so i'm saying: trust me. i intend to make it worth it. 
> 
> but enough about that. slowly, the curtains draws back, and...

Donghyuck hops on one foot, a piece of jam-covered toast pinched precariously between his lips while he struggles to get the back of his shoe over his heel. It slides on just as the toast makes an escape, and Donghyuck barely catches his breakfast safely as his foot hits the floor. There’s a chuckle from behind him, and Donghyuck pops the last bite into his mouth and licks at the raspberry on his fingers even as he turns to see Taeil. 

“Didn’t drop anything on the hardwood.”

Taeil nods, managing to translate his words through the mouthful of toast. “Good job. Cleaning service isn’t coming till this afternoon. Don’t forget your lunch.”

The brown paper bag crackles as Donghyuck takes it from Taeil’s hand; it’s light as a feather. He peeks inside, and a 100,000 won note peeks back. 

“The cook that you are…” Donghyuck says, looking back at Taeil with something a little like adoration and a lot like devotion. 

The older man shrugs. “Well I won’t win any father of the year award, but let no one say I don’t take care of my babies’ needs." Taeil winks and chuckles at his own joke, then says more seriously, "University cafeterias aren’t trustworthy, and I don’t want to hear about either of you skipping a meal.”

Donghyuck can’t help the pout that forms on his lips at the implication. “I have to share?”

“No, he got his own. But you’d share if I told you too, wouldn’t you? Like a good boy.”

The smile that slides over Donghyuck’s lips is acquiescent, if a little mischievous. “Of course,” he simpers, drawling the word and snaking an arm over Taeil’s shoulder. “Anything Daddy says.” 

“You’re going to be late, baby.”

Donghyuck pops a quick kiss on his cheek. “Not if I use the car service.”

Taeil smiles placidly. “I guess that’s why I pay for it. Don’t be late coming home, I have a dinner tonight and it’s your turn to accompany.”

“Okay, I've been wanting to wear that new Himawari Sky turtleneck. If I had a watch to match it though…” Donghyuck glances up from under his eyelashes as he picks up his backpack, careful not to let the strap of the Gucci bag catch on the arm of the hall settee. 

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“You _are_ the best. Daddy of the year!”

“Class, Donghyuck.”

-

Mark jumps in his seat and drops half the noodles from his chopsticks when Donghyuck’s tray clatters down across from him, Donghyuck following it by slamming his hand down on the table. 

“Sugar daddy of the year,” he says without preamble. 

“I think you’d have to have money first, Hyuck,” Mark replies, trying to wrangle what noodles he can save back into his dish with his chopsticks. 

“No. Not me. Obviously, I mean _our_ sugar daddy.”

Mark stares at him. 

“I mean Taeil.”

“I know who you mean. Why are we talking about this in public? In the middle of the cafeteria?”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes, chasing a glazed brussel sprout around his plate with his fork. “Yeah, because everyone believes I wear Ralph Lauren track pants because of my part time job. Be realistic; no one thinks you bought that brand new tablet for yourself, Markles.”

“Still, we can be discreet,” Mark argues, lowering his voice and his eyes even as his face turns a shade pinker. 

“Whatever. The point is, I think he deserves some appreciation. Parent’s Day is coming up soon.”

Mark’s eyes shoot up. “That’s so creepy, I am not going to let you force me to associate these two _very_ different and importantly exclusive concepts.”

“Of course not, I’m not a heathen.”

Mark stares at him. 

Donghyuck pulls a face. “I’m _not._ I’m just needy and poor but also objectively gorgeous. I know you relate to that even if you won’t admit it. Anyway, we’ll save it for after Parent’s Day, and I’m gonna do a one-day calligraphy lesson with the Trad Arts department and make him a certificate. It'll be really pretty—but not prettier than me—so maybe he’ll frame it.”

“Um. Wow. I guess I’m not against that?”

“Great. Your job is to be there and look hot. Also I want you to write a presentation speech.”

Noodles fall from Mark’s lips and he coughs. “A-a speech? Donghyuck I’m not writing a speech for a fake award just because you’ve been feeling extra babied lately—”

“Lately? He’s extra babied constantly. You should probably leverage that for a case for your dangerously naked tablet, I’m sure Taeil would make it up if he realized how much more often Hyuck wheedles things out of him.”

Donghyuck sneers as Jaemin takes a seat next to him, a chicken wrap from the gourmet counter in one hand and an iced coffee in the other. Jeno is, of course, not far behind, his own salad and kombucha drink taking a place on the table besides Mark’s noodles. 

“As if you’re not babied enough. I saw the photos from your weekend trip to the Maldives, Jaemin.”

Jaemin takes a hefty bite, careful to keep his shirtsleeves away from any dressing that wants to fall from the bundled up lettuce and tortilla. “Maybe so,” he says, swallowing, “but I’m the less babied one of us and Jeno knows it.”

“I don’t think that’s exactly true,” says Jeno, “I think we’re both, um, well looked-after.” He smiles not quite bashfully, like he’s just said he and Jaemin have a nice, attentive landlord who replaces the filters in the HVAC at the proper times, rather than an arrangement with a sugar daddy.

“Doyoung gives Jeno things he wants before he even knows he wants them.”

Mark groans and stops trying to eat. “Then give Doyoung the award.”

“What award?”

“Nuh-uh,” says Donghyuck, “he can’t be sugar daddy of the year if Taeil is. It was my idea.”

“I like that idea,” Jaemin points his half eaten wrap at Donghyuck, “bet it’ll win me points. Thanks for the tip.”

“No! Make your own award!”

Jeno waves a hand between their faces. “Quit it. Who says they can’t both get one? It’s not like they’re ever going to see it, it would just be a silly thing from us to make them feel good, right?”

“Yeah, because there’s no actual contest, and the award is fake,” Mark clarifies. 

Donghyuck sits back away from Jaemin, his shoulders relaxing. “I mean yeah. I guess. Fine.”

“Would be pretty funny if that actually existed, though.” Jaemin takes another bite, eyes glinting as he swirls the ice cubes around inside his plastic cup. 

-

Jaemin scrolls through his phone with a hard stare, annoyance tightening his normally soft brow into a pinched frown. 

“Well that's shitty. The campus parking sticker rate totally skyrocketed since last semester. I didn’t even know and I’ve been parking here for almost a month!”

Jeno pulls on the handle of the passenger door, trying to get Jaemin to click it open. “Do you have a fine or something?”

“No idea,” groans Jaemin, tapping his key so the car unlocks. “I just overheard some girl talking about it and looked it up. Do they even know how much tuition is here? They have to bleed us dry on shit like _parking_ too?”

Throwing his bag into the backseat, Jeno eyes his boyfriend as Jaemin slides behind the cozy Toyota’s wheel; the younger boy had never had interest in giving up his car for something else. 

“You know you can just…ask Doyoung…right?”

They pull out of the garage, Jaemin quiet for a minute as he maneuvers carefully through the swarms of students without hitting anyone. Even though Jeno’s focus is on his instagram feed, he can feel Jaemin shooting glances at him. 

“What?”

“Can you like…go in first? See how his mood is?” He squeezes the steering wheel, lets his hands relax again. “Maybe butter him up a little, too, just do that bubbly thing you do with all the hand holding and giggling. Then if he’s good I’ll ask.”

When Jeno doesn’t answer immediately, Jaemin dares to look away from the road for a moment. The flat line of his mouth and slightly raised eyebrows he’s seen before, Jeno nonplussed. 

“Ok, what?”

“You don’t need me to do any of that.”

Jaemin whines. “But he likes you better…”

“He’d probably buy a spot on the school’s board of directors for _either_ of us, but ok, Jaem, sure. It’s so unfair how he gets both of us everything we’ve ever needed.”

The road slides by below them, unaware of the silence inside the car, before Jaemin finally sighs. 

“I just don’t know when it’ll be too much.”

Jeno hums. “Why would it ever be? He always says we’re safe with him.”

“It just seems too good to be true sometimes.”

“Well just trust me, then,” Jeno says, reaching a hand to squeeze Jaemin’s elbow. “If it all falls apart, which it won’t, you’ll still have me.”

Regardless, Jaemin still seems to feel the need to get in good graces before making his request known. Jeno can tell by the way he changes into his softest pastel cashmere sweater and cotton pajama bottoms the minute they get to the penthouse, then proceeds to smile and flutter his eyelashes all through dinner. If Doyoung notices, he doesn’t show it, and inquires about their days as usual. 

It’s not till later that Jaemin even gets around to bringing it up. Not till he’s snuggled up to Doyoung on the obscenely large bed, humming appreciatively as Doyoung threads fingers through his hair that desperately needs a trim, and Jaemin pauses his pattern of cheek smooches to slip into a deep pout. 

“What’s that face for?” the older man asks, poking a finger into Jaemin’s cheek. 

“Nothing. Just remembered something from school and it ruined my mood.” 

Doyoung stops him from turning his head away with a finger on his chin. “What was it?”

“It’s dumb. They raised the cost for on campus parking a few hundred dollars. I guess they want to discourage it but it’s so expensive.”

“Again?”

“Well since last semester, I guess? I might have a fine, I’m worried,” Jaemin’s lower lip pouts even more intensely, and Jeno has to stop himself from laughing as he continues to read his assignment on Doyoung’s other side. 

“Oh. So since last semester, but not more than once since then? I thought I already took care of it for this year, that confused me for a minute,” Doyoung replies, laughing with relief. 

“Wait, what?”

Doyoung shakes his head, patting Jaemin’s fluffy hair. “Oh baby, you know all your school bills and notices come to me directly. The parking pass is taken care of, you shouldn’t have any fine to worry about. Unless you’ve been parking illegally, then that’s another discussion and I don’t think you want to have that one.”

“No, no I only park in the garage, promise,” Jaemin assures him, wide eyed. 

“Then,” Doyoung presses a soft kiss to his nose, “everything is fine. Or are you still worried?”

Jeno looks up from his book and catches Jaemin’s eyes for a second, just long enough to see the hearts bubbling out of them towards the man taking care of them. 

“Not worried. So grateful. Thank you sooo much,” he says, curling closer into Doyoung’s side and nuzzling into his shoulder. “You’re totally gonna win Sugar Daddy of the Year now. A complete shoe-in.”

Doyoung laughs outright. “Thank you, but there’s no way that’s a real thing. It’s sweet of you, though.”

“It’s seriously real, and you’re gonna win,” Jaemin says unexpectedly, and Jeno keeps still but shoots a sideways glance. Jaemin hasn’t moved, just stays snuggled up and toying with the hem of Doyoung’s sleeve. 

There’s a small frown of confusion on Doyoung’s handsome face. “Is it really? That doesn’t seem like a thing that…it just seems odd, that anyone would make something public like that…”

“Well it isn’t heavily publicized, obviously.”

“Hm. Interesting. Jeno?”

Jeno looks up, already concerned about the direction Jaemin was taking Donghyuck’s very fake idea, and finds them both looking at him. Internally, he shrinks. 

“This is a real thing?” Doyoung asks him, genuinely. 

Jaemin stares at Jeno hard, dipping an almost imperceptible nod that Jeno can only catch because he knows him too well to miss it, and Jeno knows he’ll hate himself for it later but he throws caution away and smiles. 

“Isn’t that funny? We just found out about it. Of course we know you’ll win if you’re entered, since you’re the best sugar daddy ever.”

The sprinkle of suspicion softens from Doyoung’s face, replaced with an almost embarrassed warmth. “I really don’t need that.”

“Well I’m not about to let someone else have the title,” assures Jaemin. “But enough about that. Jen, you about done with that assignment yet?”

There’s that glint in Jaemin’s eye that tells Jeno he probably won’t get to read the rest of the chapter before tomorrow, and he regrets his quiz score in advance. As he sets the book aside, he figures he’ll have to read the cliffnotes in the car. 

“Yeah, done.”

Jaemin grins wildly. “I’m feeling very _thankful_ , aren’t you, love? Shouldn’t we show it?” He’s already guiding Doyoung’s hand to his hip, and Jeno just sighs and smiles and moves closer. 

-

There had been a lot to work out, Mark found out quickly, when entering into a relationship with an older man who already had one sugar baby. Let alone the weeks of deciding he’d gone through and all the parameters that needed to be set up just to have this…agreement, having another person involved opposite him added an extra layer of confusing. 

Mark feels like he’s handling it well. He keeps his on-campus housing for reasons like this, maintaining his space while Donghyuck chooses to live with Taeil. It helps him focus on his studying, which is what he wanted the financial support for anyway, and he just compartmentalizes any concerns about not being there quite as often as his baby counterpart. It’s mostly ignorable. 

**[2:24pm | Na2]** _hey where r u? need ur big sexy brain_

The text from Jaemin makes him sigh. 

**[2:25 | MkLee]** _library_

He doesn’t ask what Jaemin needs, knowing he’ll find out soon enough. Shortly later, the grinning boy slides into the other plush chair of the private, reserved study room. 

“You can build a website, right?”

Mark blinks. “You need a website?”

“Nothing too dramatic, just something real enough that it’s believable and can auto-respond to an email submission.”

A familiar feeling of suspicion prickles at Mark’s skin. “Wait. For what?”

Normally Jaemin holds his own at playing innocent, but Mark’s been around devious people like Donghyuck long enough now that he’s gotten better at reading them, and Jaemin’s suspicious tells are on full display. His lip quirks up just a little higher on one side and his chin dips lower, eyes flitting away. 

“For a…project…”

“I can’t make a website if the content is secret, Jaemin.”

“Then what is your fancy computer degree even supposed to be for?” Jaemin sighs. “Fine. I want it so Doyoung will think the sugar daddy award is real, I may have implied something to that end to him.”

Mark reaches over his laptop and picks his phone off the low table, tapping his favorite contacts. 

“You’re stupid,” he says, and holds the phone up to his ear. 

“It was Jeno’s fault! He supported my lizard brain word vomit! Wait, who are you calling—“

_“Hey honey buns whatcha need?”_

“Hi Hyuck. Jaemin wants me to make him a website for your fake sugar daddy award so Doyoung will think it’s official.”

Jaemin gasps. “You traitor!”

Mark feels no guilt. He’s got loyalties, and they are to his own well being if Donghyuck finds out he helped with this without telling him. 

The other end of the line gasps as well. _“Scheming bitch!”_

“Uhuh. That’s all.”

_“...a website isn’t a bad idea though.”_

What. “What?”

He can practically hear Donghyuck twirling his hair through the phone, probably lounging the wrong way in a chair in Taeil’s study. _“Well even if Jaemin is an idea-stealing, soulless bastard of a friend, it’s not like he’s an idiot. All the time. Why not let Taeil think it’s real too?”_

“That’s a terrible idea.”

_“But you’ll do it.”_

“I will?”

Jaemin has moved so close to listen he’s practically in Mark’s chair, and Mark shoulders him away. 

_“Yeah. Because we’ll pay you.”_

“Donghyuck, tell me, please tell me that you understand my relationship with Taeil. You and I literally have the same source of income.”

Then Mark is glad he already pushed Jaemin away, even if he’s glaring at him, because he would die if Jaemin could hear Donghyuck say:

_“Honey, I think we both know there’s more than one way to pay for things in this life. I think I can give you something you want.”_

“Whatever,” Mark says, through a tightened throat, “it’s basic coding, I’ll do it for free if you’ll both shut up.”

At his side, Jaemin makes a giddy, gleeful sound and presses his ear against the other side of the phone to listen in, jostling Mark’s glasses in the process. Mark just lets him. 

_“Suit yourself. Let Jaemin know when I see him next I’m gonna beat his ass, then we’ll collab on the site.”_

“Fine. Bye.”

There’s a smooching sound, and the line goes dead. Mark turns to Jaemin. 

“You catch that last part?”

Jaemin nods like a bobble head. “Yeah. I think he said he’s gonna eat my ass on sight. Weird, but I’m not complaining. Anyway, I gotta go pick Jen up from class so I’ll see you later, nerd!”

He runs off with a wink and a wave to pick up his boyfriend, and Mark wishes not for the first time that their situations could be reversed. What he wouldn’t give to be happily dating and supported by a wealthy patron, rather than supported and having a…Donghyuck. He doesn’t even know _what_ they are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so begins the tale of folly! or whatever. thoughts? points of amusement? predictions? concerns? i'll take them below & do my best to stay current w them. or submit to me on twt/cc (both @ImJaeBabie).  
> next up, a brief interlude & introduction, a glimpse rather, as we proceed! (expecting to post again next week!)


	2. First Interlude: Renjun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An introduction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [barely restrains joy at opening this door in particular]

It’s a little nerve-wracking, but aside from spiraling further into the mental sinkhole he’s been struggling in for the past month, this is the only option he can come up with. 

_‘how to know if you’re in love with your sugar daddy’_

Renjun types it into the Naver search bar and hits enter even as his fingers shake. He just needs a third party, some reasoning on this outside his own head. He needs to _know,_ to be actually _sure._

He has plenty of reasons. Plenty of memories like movie scenes built up and culminated in their emotions to place in his mind this question. And they start with a memory in which he felt almost the opposite, in an upscale restaurant at a discreet table, where the first words out of his mouth were:

“I don’t think I want to do this.”

After three weeks of messaging back and forth with the contact in his phone saved only as “ _PSD_ ,” Renjun wanted out almost the second they finally met in person. It wasn’t that he felt unsafe or anything it was just that—

He was beautiful. The profile photo for _Yamamoto_Yuu_ didn’t hold so much as a tea candle to the person behind it. This sudden knowledge was so terrifying, and went beyond Renjun’s imagination that something like that could work between the two of them. The moment those large, intense eyes fixed on Renjun he was already out of his seat. 

“Alright.”

Renjun had walked away from the table, gotten all the way out of the door, before turning right around and stalking back to stand next to his seat. 

“ _'Alright?’_ That’s it? I can just go? You’re not going to try and convince me or anything?” He asked, thoroughly confused. 

The man had crossed his many-ringed hands over the white table cloth and tilted his head, a look of concern on his face. “Of course you can go. If you don’t want this, then it doesn’t happen.”

Renjun bit at the inside of his lip. “You aren’t going to make me split the bill for dinner here? Nothing?”

“We didn’t even eat…Injun-ah, did someone make you do that?”

The hefty withdrawal from his bank account had sat heavy in the back of Renjun’s mind, what he considered a punishment for backing out of an earlier attempt. He just didn’t want a repeat, right before giving up on the idea for good. 

“Nevermind, it’s not important. I’ll be going, then, Yamamoto-san,” he said with just a hint of reflexive bow, the Japanese name round on his Chinese tongue, “…that was all I wanted to make sure. I’m just going to…to leave…yeah. I’m. I’m going.”

“Injun-ah, please.”

He stopped. Not quite a conscious decision, and even at the pseudonym he provided, but one of the few better ones in his lifetime, in hindsight. 

“Yes?”

“Of course you can go. But…would you let me talk to you first, just a little? You can still decide you don’t want this.”

It was odd; his anxiety remained as it always did, but something was there trying to ease it away too. Maybe just the repetitions that he was free to leave if he so chose, or perhaps even how still Yamamoto-san kept while speaking to him; Renjun felt a bit like prey that had turned around in fear only to find its predator disinterested in pouncing, calm and relaxed and not at all poised to strike.

Renjun sat back down, caution in every muscle, in every fiber that composed the suit that wrapped stiffly around his body, too crisp from too long in the back of his closet. He wasn’t even sure it looked good enough to wear. 

But as he sat, the man smiled, relieved and open, and Renjun’s jaw nearly dropped. 

“Thank god,” Yamamoto-san breathed. “You had every right to leave but only getting to look at you for less than a minute almost broke my heart.”

“What?”

“May I hold your hand? Is that alright?”

Dazed, Renjun set his hand delicately on the tablecloth, too confused to decline. Yamamoto-san covered it with just as much gentleness, his fingers warm and a little rough. 

“I can’t imagine,” he said, “someone being so heartless and petty as to make you pay for a meal they offered only because you changed your mind. It disgusts me. Please know you can order as much or as little as you like, and that I intend to pay for all of it.”

“Well I—“

“I just need to be clear on that, so you understand. My first and only concern is that you are perfectly, utterly comfortable and at ease.”

Renjun stared, static in his legs and arms and especially the fingers held softly in the older man’s hand, and tried to wrap his mind around it. 

He whispered, finally, “But what about what you want?”

A smile so wide Renjun felt he could dive right through it. “Ideally? Your company. Whatever you want to give. Nothing more.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“I know! Bizarre isn’t it? Haha,” Yamamoto-san’s laugh sounded like actual ‘ha’s, full and hearty and ringing. “Maybe I’m bad at this. But that’s all I’m really looking for, and it’d be just incredible if you wanted that too.”

Left blinking and pinching at the white, starched tablecloth, Renjun identified the small burning spark of intrigue buried inside the mess of anxiety over accepting the offer—one that had ignited with their initial messages and only grown until the point of meeting, and as much as it terrified him, it also seemed to pull him toward this man like gravity.

“Renjun, Huang Renjun,” he’d said, blurted really. He’d pulled his hand back, curling his fingers in his lap to placate his nerves. “That’s my real name. I think you should know it, if we’re going to spend time together.”

His... _sugar daddy..._ had slid his own fingers calmly back over the table, letting them come to rest on the stem of his not-yet-filled water glass. “My actual family name is _Naka_ moto,” he replied, “but I would prefer you to call me Yuta.”

“Yuta-san...okay.”

Yuta had smiled, then, brighter than all the candlelight.

The rest of that first dinner was history. Four months later, Renjun still looks back on meeting Yuta as one of the most pivotal moments of his life. Now he’s just wondering if it’s pivoting again, this time emotionally. 

The search results Naver gives him aren’t impressive. Lots of useless hypotheticals and hate comments on question sites, assuring sugar babies that any feelings would disappear the moment they stopped pulling pearls from the shallows, that they should steer clear and keep things business. 

And then—one link that stands out. It advertises a contest so absurd Renjun can’t imagine it’s legitimate, but he finds himself clicking it anyway. The page headline reads:

_~ Sugar Daddy of the Year ~_

_Do you capital ‘L’ Love your sugar daddy? Is your sugar daddy simply the best? Is he the top of the line for patronage in icing up your baby wrists? Have you been thinking, “There should be an award for my splenda papi based on how incredibly good I get it, every day, in every way (and every position)”?_

_Well, there is!_

_Enter the form below with your reasons why your sugar daddy should receive the coveted title, Sugar Daddy of the Year. Keep it anonymous to remain discreet: naturally the delicacy of this arrangement is well-understood here!_

_Once you have entered, please look for a confirmation email to verify your entry, and then—_

_just wait!_

_If he’s really the best, you could be seeing that title sitting above the mantelpiece every day from the comfort of your daddy’s lap for years to come (pun intended)._

_Good luck, daddies and babies!_

Renjun assumes immediately, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this was written by some seriously stereotypical sugar babies, and a solid part of him wants to report the website just for existing. But a bigger, softer part of him melts at the idea of Yuta’s delighted smile as he hands him the award, his appreciation fully displayed…

He sighs, clicks the entry form button, and starts typing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D yeah that's right i said y u r e n. [ignites spontaneously]


	3. Sir, This is a McDonalds Drive Thru

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little stickier.

It’s just a formality, is what Jeno thinks as he calmly logs into the email account they created for the fake award website. He only needs to copy and paste the “confirmation email” language from the doc Donghyuck sent him back into a “response” to their fake entry, and that’s it. He didn’t even write the email password down; it’s not like he’ll ever need to login again. 

The portal opens up quickly and buffers for a moment, loading the inbox screen, and Jeno swivels in his desk chair and picks at his cuticles as he waits for it to appear. When it does, he twirls back and slides his finger over the touchpad—and pauses. 

There should only be three emails. One to connect the address with the website, one from Jaemin “submitting” Doyoung, and one from Donghyuck doing the same for Taeil. 

“Uh. Wait.”

Jeno squints at the screen and wonders if he should get his glasses, because he really thought he could see most screens alright most of the time, but this one’s really throwing him. 

He takes a deep breath. 

“Jaemin!” he shouts, loud enough to carry through the apartment. 

There’s the low thump of footsteps, then, “You screamed, my Love?”

“Why are there…eleven email submissions, including ours, for your fake sugar daddy award?”

Jaemin chuckles. “Spam accounts be crazy, right?”

“No. No Jaemin. This isn’t spam.”

The chair swivels a little as Jaemin comes to brace against the back of it, leaning over Jeno’s shoulder and staring at the inbox full of emails from babies gushing about their pampered lives, in varying amounts of explicit detail. Jeno clicks through them, stunned. 

“Oh my god…” he quickly closes one email, not sure if what he was reading was a submission or amateur erotic fiction. 

“Hey wait, bring that back, I was reading it!”

“You  _ don’t  _ need ideas. Jaemin, how is this happening?”

The younger boy straightens up and shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says through a nervous laugh, “no one else should know this exists. Only we know about the website, well us and Hyuckie and Mark hyung…”

“I mean, apparently not. Jaemin is…is that website  _ live?”  _

“Oh. Haha. Oh fuck.”

Mark picks up after a few tense rings, his voice mildly annoyed over the speakerphone’s lacking audio quality. 

_ “Hey can this wait? I’m in line for boba—“ _

“Mark  _ fucking _ Lee is that website live!?”

_ “Well yeah, how else did you expect to connect it to an email account and accept submissions?” _

Jaemin curses rather loudly and creatively. 

_ “Jaeminnie what the fuck.” _

Jeno sighs and takes the phone from Jaemin, who gives it up without any fight, his eyes adopting a glazed-over look. 

“Mark hyung,” Jeno asks carefully, “…is it search-engine optimized, by chance?”

_ “No, of course not…” _ Mark pauses.  _ “Well…actually, I usually need to have pages SEO as part of my assignments so now that you mention it…I typically start with that as presets when building a new page…ohhhhh oh my god.” _

Avoiding where Jaemin has sunk to the floor and put his head in hands, Jeno rolls back to his computer and tries to take deep, controlled breaths. “Mark,” he says in what could almost be considered a calm tone, “we have submissions from nine others sugar babies. That’s nine rogue submissions for an award that doesn’t exist.”

_ “Nine? You can’t be serious.” _

“Yes, ni—wait, no, make that ten.”

From the floor, Jaemin lets out a groan again and covers his ears like not hearing it will make it not real. 

_ “Don’t do anything, touch nothing,”  _ Mark instructs, and Jeno quickly marks all the emails as unread.  _ “I’m getting Hyuck and we will be over there ASAP. Just. Keep Jaemin chill.” _

Jeno takes a glance at his distressed boyfriend and sighs. “I’ll do my best.”

-

There’s  _ Murphy’s Law,  _ which Jaemin is familiar with, in many ways quite personally. Things love to go wrong, that’s for sure. For him, however, that law doesn’t seem to entirely cover it, and so there’s also  _ Jaemin’s Law _ —identified and defined by Na Jaemin—which states that most things Jaemin thinks he has a decent grasp of will get outrageously, unanticipatedly out of hand.

He’s no longer all that surprised when it happens, but it doesn’t stop him from being pissed about it. 

Like now. Could he have known that pushing Hyuck’s dumb idea of an award into semi-reality would turn out like this, with all these strangers submitting their—notably sexy—personal sugar daddy stories? Of course not. Maybe. Maybe making a website was taking it a step too far, but believability was everything in these cases.

Donghyuck being mad at him is an unfortunate additional downside Jaemin is pretty sure he doesn’t deserve. But there he is nonetheless, sucking the life out of his iced coffee on the opposite side of the table, glaring at Jaemin like he personally elicited these submissions from the local sugar baby community, which is unreasonable because Jaemin kind of thought they  _ were  _ the community, like all of it.

“We could just shut the whole thing down now,” suggests Jeno, chewing on a nearly destroyed hoodie string. 

Donghyuck snorts. “And what will we email back to these people? ‘Hello, we are very sorry but we made this all up and it doesn’t exist. Thank you for sharing the incredibly personal and explicit details of the sexual for-profit arrangement that you have, with us, several college students doing this for shits and giggles. There is no award. Have a lovely day?’” He gestures an arm out in a wide sweep, leaning back into his chair. “Be my guest.” 

The hoodie string disappears further into Jeno’s mouth and he dips his head down, and as usual Jaemin can’t not speak.

“Hey this was your stupid idea in the first place, not his, no need to be mean—”

“You’re right, sorry Jen. It _was_ my idea until you ran off with it, Jaemin, so it’s you I’m mad at for ruining my very good, very simple award.”

“All I said was I wanted one for Doyoung too, not to alert every sugar baby in the greater Seoul commuter area!  _ That  _ part is Mark’s fault.”

Mark’s fingers pause, their lack of movement a sudden silence of his previous keyboard clicks, which, despite being the inverse of the sound of a gun cocking, has the same effect in that Donghyuck immediately cowers under the accompanying glare Mark levels him with. Jaemin finds himself sliding his own chair back a few centimeters.

“I refuse to be blamed for any of this,” Mark states with a chill in his voice, “when I was roped into it against my will.” He stares Donghyuck down long enough that the other boy finally breaks away, blinking and clearing his throat, and then Mark exhales through his nose and the sternness softens from his face. “It might actually be dangerous to just shut this down. It may be the beneficiaries who sent in submissions, but their benefactors are people with a lot of money. And a lot of money means a lot of power, so I’d prefer not to have this collection of people angry at me for thoughtlessly collecting their personal information.” 

This was not even a side of things Jaemin had considered, and it only makes him internally curse his Law further. 

“But they don’t know who we are?” Jeno asks.

Mark smiles kindly, but says, “I think they have the money to find out.”

“So, we don’t shut it down, we—” Jaemin pauses as the barista passes their table to deliver a drink. They all wait patiently until she returns to the safe distance behind the counter, Jeno offering a polite and friendly smile as she goes. “—we leave the site and ad active? Then what?” 

Tapping his fingers on the tabletop, Donghyuck hums into his straw, then shrugs. “Wait a few weeks, a couple of months at most, and then send a notice telling them who won—not them— and thank you for entering. The end.” 

“Really? That’s it?”

Mark nods to Jeno, confirming he thinks it would work. “I can have the submissions period close soon, so we don’t get too many more of them. Then we can just wait.” 

“Just wait. Mm.” 

The coffee shop murmurs around their table of four like a gently brewing pot, and Jaemin tries to make himself view them from the outside. They’re some of the youngest clientele there, the other people taking refuge from the windy spring day less obviously students, and Jaemin knows it’s one of the more posh establishments, the surrounding area upscale in its shops and clothiers and the only reason any of them had set foot in this area prior to having Doyoung or Taeil in their lives was because Jeno’s ability to make anyone feel that magical mix of important and engrossing no matter what kind of person they are, which when matched with his face made him the ideal barista. He still fills an occasional shift when he has free time or Doyoung and Jaemin both end up busy. 

Now, only their age gives them away in any particular way. Jaemin can tell from a cursory glance than his jacket and watch put him at scale visually with any of the young professionals swinging through for a later afternoon coffee, and even past some of them; they’re actual financial status is all but invisible, and along with it the means by which they each wear the facade. 

But if anything were to label them differently, label them for what they are, Jaemin knows what kind of looks they’d get. They joke about it at school, but even there he doesn’t really think anyone cares to confirm where their money comes from when they’re deep under academic water stretching for a breath. Greater society, however, might not be so kind.

He shakes the thought away. It’s a little too sobering when he’d already like the overall mood to improve. 

Jaemin drops his hand under the table and finds Jeno’s thigh, coasting his hand over the jean-clad firmness to pinch midway up his inseam. 

Jeno’s eyes flick down then over, the corners softening as he leans ever so slightly into Jaemin’s shoulder.

“Suggestion,” says Jeno gently, releasing his half-destroyed hoodie string to find Jaemin’s hand and prevent him with intertwined fingers from inching any further up between his legs. “Maybe we should revise the ad wording a little? Polish it up?”

Mark scrunches his nose as he habitually does to adjust his glasses slightly higher and taps at his laptop, lets his eyes skim over his screen, then sighs and lets them close for a moment. “Jesus.” He pushes a hand under his glasses and rubs his eyelid roughly. “I forgot what you two wrote. That needs a complete rework. If anyone ever finds out we were the ones behind this, I’ll deny it to my grave.”

“Aw Markie,” Donghyuck tilts his chair onto its side legs, a precarious balance of tension should he go too far, “are you embarrassed to be associated with us? Do I frustrate you?” 

Muted confliction flutters across Mark’s face and Jaemin keeps quiet, holding Jeno’s hand and letting the other two play out today’s moment of cat and mouse.

The contentious aura breaks when Mark glances down at his smartwatch. “If we’re going to be on time to meet Taeil in Cheongdam at  _ Wolfgang’s _ for dinner, we need to get going. Or did you change your mind about wanting to pick up something nicer to wear?”

Donghyuck’s chair settles back on the floor with a clack, and he noisily empties his coffee before standing and brushing invisible lint off his trousers. “Nope, still do,” he says, mischief fallen out of his voice as if it were never there at all. “Shopping’s better closer by there. I’m going to the bathroom quick first. Call a car, will you?”

He sweeps through the tasteful mix of trendy seating toward the back of the cafe without waiting for an answer. Jeno chuckles lowly, settling his chin on Jaemin’s shoulder, and Jaemin squeezes Jeno’s warm hand, his hold on it lasting much longer than the stare that glues Mark’s eyes to Donghyuck until he rounds the corner. Then Mark sighs and twists his lips before picking his phone up.

Jaemin pushes their hands against Jeno’s knee and presses his fingers there for a moment.

Couldn’t be them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh what a pickle for these silly boys. good thing they got it all figured out, right? :)


	4. Second Interlude: Jaehyun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An introduction (again).

His phone makes that pleasant little  _ shwoop!  _ sound as Jaehyun sends the text off, letting the magic of 4G LTE data rocket the website link away to its recipient’s location and out of his mind for the time being. In front of him float images of various aesthetics: something faux country barn, something classic diner, something else traditional dinner club. To Jaehyun, they all look wrong; why would his restaurant need crown moldings? Or fairy lights in mason jars. The last thing he wants is to have to serve food to a table themed like the movie Grease.

The email back to the interior designer is half-composed when his phone pings cheerfully, and Jaehyun falls to the irrespectful nudge of distraction faster than olives out of a jilted tin.

**[jjs 9:12pm]** _ jaehyun what the everloving hell is this _

Jaehyun rubs under his eye with a knuckle as he reads the text, then thumbs the screen back up to the link and frowns at it. Ten had said it was a contest, hadn’t he? Was it not?

Tapping the link, Jaehyun leans into the blunt edge of his desk and props his temple against his fist, stifling the yawn for its narrowing eyes to scan the information that loads.

Something something...sugar daddy...blah blah, annual contest. There’s more to it, but the gist is clear enough.

**[jae97 9:14pm]** _ contest i think?  _

Even as he sends the response, there’s a tingle in his spine that tells Jaehyun it’s inadequate, that he’s about to be drilled for more—more information, more context, more consideration for how to he ought to speak to— 

“Now, I know you know I’m going to need more than that,” Johnny complains, the door’s gentle opening creak dulling away as he treads slippered across the room and takes a seat on the free corner of Jaehyun’s desk. 

Jaehyun relaxes back, sinking into his shoulders and shrugging. “I know as much as you do. Do we have interest in running for sugar daddy of the year?” He resists the urge to palm over Johnny’s nearer knee, to push his fingers into the curve of muscle on the inner side beneath the softness of his lounge pants. 

“No the fuck I do not. And it has to be a joke anyway, right? Who would enter something like that?”

“Well, Ten would, I guess.”

Johnny’s glance whips sideways from the dresser across the room to Jaehyun’s face, the sleek man halting his absent-minded habit of twisting his ring to gather tension between his teeth.

“Ten would…so you mean  _ he  _ would.” Johnny sniffs, or snorts maybe, something flirting at disapproval. Jaehyun knows that’s what it is, even if Johnny isn’t saying it  _ yet. _

That’s when Jaehyun  _ does  _ reach for Johnny’s knee, scooting his wheeled office chair closer and pulling the dangling leg between his own and kneading the flesh above the joint soothingly. He should have anticipated this. 

Jaehyun says, “It is dumb though. We don’t have to enter, obviously.”

Johnny huffs an incredulous, abbreviated laugh. “And let him have the chance of winning by default?”

“Not default, they could still lose to someone else.”

“But not to us.”

“Well, yeah, not to us.” 

Ankle hooking behind Jaehyun’s calf, Johnny tugs him a bit closer and curls fingers under Jaehyun’s chin, thumb gently noting the scratch of end-of-day stubble there. The office is lowly lit, with the dimmer set on the second-last setting for the tastefully hidden track lighting and the desklamp providing most of the soft, white glow in the room. Johnny’s face is a study in contrasts, in angles highlighted paradoxically by shadow and in the lightly displeased twist of his lips that mismatches with the liquid way his eyes roam Jaehyun’s face. He leans down, a whisper of folding fabric and protesting furniture, and eases a kiss between Jaehyun’s eyebrows, onto the bridge of his nose, below his eye, silently requiring Jaehyun to sit taller to be within reach. The room starts to melt away as Jaehyun’s eyes slip shut, giving his mind and body permission to get caught up in the touch. 

Johnny reaches his cheek and hums against it, begins to slide off the desk and reach for more of Jaehyun. “Are you finished working for the night?” he asks, balance perched one foot on the floor and his other kneecap in the small wedge of chair space between Jaehyun’s legs. 

“N-almost,” says Jaehyun, barely above a murmur, “one or two more things. Then I’m all yours.” 

“You’re all mine anyway.”

Johnny pulls away and straightens and Jaehyun misses him for the cool absence immediately, but lets out a breath and blinks his computer screen back into focus. His response is still unfinished, opinions on decor reformulating in his brain again slowly, and his phone screen finally times out to black, taking the contest details out of sight but bumping them back into mind.

Jaehyun turns as Johnny makes his way out of the room, and calls, “So wait, should we enter this contest?”

Johnny taps a finger against the doorframe and hums, then grins slowly at him. 

“Why don’t you finish up and come to me.” He cocks his head, calmly taking a moment to roll the sleeves of his dress shirt up to his forearms. “I’ll let you decide whether I prove to be daddy of the year or not.” 

He smiles and then leaves fully, and Jaehyun doesn’t clearly remember until later, when the designer responds, what he actually wrote in the rest of that email. But he does distinctly remember how he got the bruises on his hips.

**[jae97 11:34am]** _i hate filling out forms. this award better be worth my effort._

**[10Ten 11:36am]** _ OH LMAO U GUYS ACTUALLY ENTERED????? hahahaha oh my god _

**[jae97 11:36am]** _ you can’t be serious _

**[10Ten 11:38am]** _ lol don’t kill me, i just thought u would get a chuckle out of it. but now we gotta enter too, huh? no this is good, there’s no way he’ll turn this down, i mean either of them will. u have given me leverage for my amusement. i kiss u.  _

**[jae97 11:40am]** _ you do no such thing. still pissed.  _

**[10Ten 11:36am]** _ i will bring home gelato how about that _

**[jae97 11:40am]** _ forgiveness will go into consideration once i am eating pistachio _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *bangs a gong* another contender enters the ring ! (and an additional one has been hinted at *wiggles eyebrows*)


	5. I Hope This Email Finds You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all fun and games...

He doesn’t really have the data, Mark thinks, to line out and make a call on whether there’s such a thing as a natural sugar baby. But he can definitively say that there are people who are more inclined toward allowing, or forcing, others to pamper them, and he can say this because he knows Donghyuck. 

It was a case study, kind of, at first. Did Mark know what to do—other than the uh, obvious—as a sugar baby, once he agreed to it? Really, no. And he understood, he did, that Donghyuck’s arrangement with Taeil did not mirror his exactly; there were overlaps, but essential differences. Even still, Mark likes having guidelines and models to follow, and observing Donghyuck interact with Taeil seemed like the best way to get a feel for what a _sugar baby_ does.

He’s still not sure if he gets it. 

Again, the obvious is obvious enough. Mark’s first nonessential money request was so he could buy the best noise-cancelling headphones on the market, a purchase he doesn’t regret in the slightest; one afternoon of trying to complete his assignments while at Taeil’s penthouse—a place so blatantly opulent Mark still isn’t always sure what’s safe to touch—while Donghyuck was _also_ there, and taking his arrangement very seriously, had Mark vowing never to leave his ears at the mercy of what the walls could handle ever again.

Mark isn’t sure what else out of the things Donghyuck does constitute sugar baby responsibilities. Nowhere in Mark’s deal does it say he’ll spend time washing dishes, or turning the seemingly random collection of items in the refrigerator into easily grab-able, single serving snacks, or keeping the various home maintenance services on schedule to appear. 

He glimpses Donghyuck usually more occupied with running Taeil’s home than he does anything else.

Coming to the penthouse to find Donghyuck at the massive kitchen island, the surface covered to the extent of his arms’ reach with books and papers, with _homework,_ has Mark pausing in his tracks to the snack cabinet.

Donghyuck is on the phone. “N— ...no, no. Chenle. A tur—listen to me, a turtle is not a fish. But you can sometimes put one in a fish tank.”

Careful to open the cabinet quietly, Mark lifts an eyebrow at the side of Donghyuck’s head. There’s a pause while Donghyuck seems to be listening, his brow deeply furrowed and his eyes pinched shut.

“—no, he’s thinking of a tortoise. Jesus, Chenle, can’t you use the internet for this?...that _is_ the definition of a second opinion, which in this case doesn’t matter because it’s not a matter of opin—”

Donghyuck puts his free hand over his face, and Mark is pretty sure he has heard this kind of measured breathing technique used in a yoga video once. He hangs his bag on the backrest and slides carefully into one of the high stools kitty-corner to Donghyuck at the island, then picks at the fancy organic trail mix packet, trying to pretend he’s not listening. Donghyuck’s eyes pop open and he shoots Mark a thin look.

“Chenle, I have work to do,” he says, “ask your roommate. You have a roommate don’t you? Yeah, ask him. I’ll see you in class.” He hangs up and the phone goes skittering across black slate countertop, stopping somewhere beneath a few notebook pages.

Mark says nothing.

“Don’t have kids, Mark,” Donghyuck advises, turning his eyes to his laptop as Mark coughs suddenly over a particularly dry almond.

“Isn’t that guy your accompanist?” 

_“Yes_ so _why_ am I also his encyclopedia, therapist, and mother?”

Mark shrugs. “You could stop answering his calls.”

Donghyuck blinks, face impassive. “Well,” he says, “someone has to mentor him. I’m his senior after all.”

“Then don’t complain.”

“It’s called _venting,_ Mark Lee,” says Donghyuck as he collects some of his papers, tapping them into a neat stack and securing them with a clip. “Something normal humans do to relieve frustration, if you’re not familiar.” He leans back against the chair and stretches his arms high, hoodie falling loosely down from his honeyed wrists while he hums a whine. “Anyway,” he continues, settling again, “I need a break. Think I’m gonna read one of the hornier new sugar baby submissions just for fun.”

Tensing, Mark shoots a glance into the open air of the penthouse. “Dude, Taeil—”

“Daddy isn’t _home_ right now, Markie,” trills Donghyuck, making Mark cringe hard, his whole body singing with discomfort, “what do you take me for?...ooh, you know what?”

Mark hesitates, the snack packet crinkling in his hands. He feels no less tense. “What?”

“I think I’ll read it aloud. A dramatic performance, just for you.”

“No.”

“You’re gonna love it.” Donghyuck smiles open-mouthed, pushes his tongue into his cheek and winks at Mark, then turns to his laptop before Mark can collect himself enough to disagree further. 

Mark starts getting up to leave. His patience for Donghyuck’s nonsense is only so strong.

“Mm, this one looks good. Oh it looks short but spicy _,_ yes.” Donghyuck cracks his knuckles while Mark struggles to get his bag off the chair quickly enough. _“‘To Whom it may concern,’_ oh, how polished! _‘To whom it may concern, I hope this contest is sincere, because if not, the joke is not_ _funny.’”_

Donghyuck’s voice loses its teasing tone as he reads, slowing over the words that have Mark returning his full attention, until he falls silent.

The spark of mischief has left Donghyuck’s eyes completely, replaced by the look Mark only knows as one that rarely spells anything pleasant for the person eliciting it, or anyone in near enough radius to witness—in this case, Mark. 

But more than that, the tone of the submission already worries Mark. He hangs his bag on the knob of the chair’s rest again and moves behind Donghyuck, leaning in over his shoulder to read. He’s close enough now to hear how Donghyuck’s breathing has picked up, a measured but short pattern through his nose like a train engine picking up speed.

Mark’s eyes fix on the screen. The submission _is_ brief; but it’s hardly a submission. Instead, what he braces his hand on the island to read is a letter: detailed, brusque, and cutting. He feels himself starting to break out into a cold sweat.

Donghyuck laughs a moment, harshly, growling, “They think they can just—!” He cuts off with an outraged voice-crack, continuing to glare at the words.

The silence as Donghyuck keeps reading is palpable in the way fury normally is, where instinct eggs Mark to back out of the blast radius, and before Mark can even properly finish reading the email Donghyuck slams the laptop shut and flings himself out of his chair with a disgusted shout.

“The fucking audacity!” he snarls. “An ultimatum? An _ultimatum!_ Who does this person think they are! ‘Best wishes’ my ass!”

Mark gingerly dares to reopen the laptop while Donghyuck runs amok in the kitchen, for some reason grabbing a spatula from its hook on the wall and swinging it in emphasis as he continues to rant.

And well, Mark has to admit. He’s read things that made him feel less insulted and scolded than this.

—

Jeno doesn’t know what qualifies something as a phobia, but based on the pulse of mild panic he experiences every time he sees the characters for either “Lee Mark” or “Lee Donghyuck” appear on his lockscreen, he feels he’s developed one. So he has a phobia of receiving texts from two specific people. Or, a phobia of contests…except not really, more like a fear of managing contests. Then again, maybe it’s more of a phobia of getting involved with hare-brained schemes for no _good_ reason and when he has no idea what he’s doing.

Unfortunately, Jeno has no idea how to name such a fear, so in lieu of further panic he puts his phone back into his pocket.

“Something important?” Doyoung asks, eyes kept down and his hands occupied with tying the scarf around Jeno’s neck in a fashionable manner. Jeno watches his thin fingers turn, tuck, and smooth the soft wool with confidence, and feels his heart mutely skip a beat.

“No, it can wait,” he replies. Not for long, but it can and has to wait. There would be nothing more suspicious than brushing Doyoung off to hunt down where Jaemin has gone to in the store and drag him off for some urgent thing he couldn’t explain to Doyoung.

Even if Donghyuck’s text does read pretty urgent.

**[4:48pm | Hyuckie]** _some bastard trying to fuck with our contest. need to meet ASAP_

Phobia absolutely triggered.

Cool fingertips, Doyoung’s fingertips, brush the fringe of Jeno’s hair aside, grazing over his eyebrow in a smooth stroke. “You’re frowning, Jeno-yah.”

“Some people are frustrating,” says Jeno, actively trying to relax his face under the gentle scrutiny of Doyoung’s perception. The perfect almonds of his eyes flit around Jeno’s face for a moment longer before softening, and his hands return to the scarf.

“Which people?”

“Not you.”

It’s evasive, Jeno knows, but it makes Doyoung grin, and then Doyoung’s grip on the scarf tightens. He calmly takes a step forward, then another, walking them back further into the little alcove of the store where he’d been trying various cool-weather accessories on Jeno, until Jeno’s back meets the strip of wall between two framed mirrors. Doyoung tugs on the scarf, drawing Jeno’s face closer to his own.

“I never frustrate you?” he asks in a whisper that breezes over Jeno’s lips.

It sends a thrill up Jeno’s spine, and wow, Doyoung is always so beautiful up this close. Less perfect, but so, so beautiful, here where Jeno can see the suggestions, just barely, under the corners of his eyes where one day laughter wrinkles won’t fade with their namesake.

Jeno nods noncommittally as a response, too focused on their proximity there in the store where anyone could round the corner and see them, and he tingles with anticipation.

Doyoung’s eyes flit from Jeno’s down to his lips instead. The nameless music in the shop fades under the sound of their breath, and Jeno nearly lets his eyes slip shut, but one beat later Doyoung retreats and once again smooths the scarf with a controlled grace.

“I like this one,” he says, measured. “We’ll get it, and the gloves from the other table. Get them while I go find Jaemin, and meet us at the counter, hm?”

Doyoung glides away like that, with a chamomile smile and no remorse, leaving Jeno to compose himself a little longer with only a tasteful display of hats for company.

Jeno removes the scarf and folds it, laying it over his arm before retrieving the pair of gloves.

He heads back to the front of the store, a giddy giggle behind his lips. As he walks he can see where Doyoung stands waiting with Jaemin, one hand very subtly resting at Jaemin’s lower back over his coat. 

“I take it back. You  _ can  _ be frustrating, too,” Jeno says just to himself.


	6. Third Interlude: Sicheng

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another introduction.

It’s a little unfair, Sicheng thinks, that even sitting chastised with his hands tucked under his thighs, slippered feet softly tapping at the hardwood despite efforts to keep still, Ten can look so cute and innocent.

He’s _not_ innocent.

Sicheng is holding to that belief until he can properly wrap his head around what Ten’s put into his lap, now, this...contest.

The web page glares up at him in garish pastels. He’ll admit that the web design is actually…respectable. Whoever made this at least knows their way around good coding, but the content. God. The content.

He shoots another pained look at Ten, who has taken to picking at the seam on the front of the chair cushion, lips in a pout Sicheng _knows_ he’s aware Sicheng has noticed. Ten’s eyes flit up for a moment, his face beginning to lift and a smile spreading before Sicheng quirks his own chin down to the right, brow sunk in reiterating his disapproval. 

Ten sighs, eyes dropping, and the pout returns.

Sicheng focuses back on the task at hand from where he’s perched behind the elegant desk and in front of the bright laptop screen. The more of this website he reads, the more he wants to run back the IP address, find out who made it, and hunt them down. At best, it’s an embarrassment. At worst, an infraction against the privacy of some potentially very sensitive people. Not even potentially; now that he knows Ten’s roommate submitted an entry that included Johnny Suh, it’s already too close to Sicheng and the things he cares about for comfort. 

He feels justified once again in ordering Ten’s temporary silence. Sicheng isn’t foolish enough to think Ten played no role in getting Johnny and his beneficiary involved in something like this. He would have said as much after knowing Ten for one week, let alone several months.

Sicheng bypasses anything in the submission form that isn’t required and clicks into the box for free-form text, and gets to it. He writes:

_To whom it may concern,_

_I hope this contest is being taken seriously, because if not, the joke is not funny._

_Conceptually, I understand your intent, I believe. While I can’t call it anything such as noble, it doesn’t seem malicious. I am sure you only mean as you say: to offer an opportunity to recognize someone who has had impact on another’s life in this particular way, allowing that benefitted person to express their thanks and affection, in whatever form it might be, back to the generous benefactor._

_But based on your, frankly, very informationally weak website, I cannot be sure. Perhaps this is a malicious gathering of personal information disguised as something sweet (although, to be honest, your wording could use improvement. Let’s not embarrass those beneficiaries who aren’t vapid little money leeches, shall we?). Maybe you_ _do_ _want to expose these arrangements, or take advantage of them in some way. Based on the bare minimum information—and I read all of it—you provide, and the level of information requested for an entry submission, I would advise anyone in a quote “sugar” relationship to steer clear of whatever you think you’re doing here._

_I happen to know, however, that you already have at least one submission. For the sake of that, I must intervene._

_Here is the bottom line. I request, no, demand that you either start taking this seriously, or take it down. If you decide to cancel this “contest” and take the website down, I will expect that you will inform all current entrants and make assurances that their information will be expunged or otherwise deleted or protected. Be assured that I will check, and I have my ways, to be certain you follow through._

_On the other hand, if you decide to get serious about this, then you better be serious about doing it properly. That will include, and not be limited to: fleshing out this website with specific detail about the collection and protection of information, details for the method of the winner’s determination process and an official in-person awards ceremony, and a direct method of contact for any questions/concerns for all entrants._

_Oh. And of course, you understand that something like this would have to be exclusive to either homosexual or heterosexual relationships. Not both. If I have to explain to you why, then I think the problem here is bigger than even I am assuming._

_Now, should you choose the latter option and want to move forward with this contest, I will be willing to extend an olive branch and even my assistance on a consultatory basis. If you have questions, need clarification, or desire input into doing this correctly, you may bring these requests to me. And, of course, you’ll have my entry to look forward to._

_Please consider this letter carefully and respond to me at your earliest convenience. (As long as that moment of convenience is within the next week, longer than which without response will force me to take measures to make the decision for you.)_

_Best Wishes,_

_A Well-Meaning, Professional Financial Beneficiary_

Sicheng rereads his letter twice, feeling his adult professional voice sit heavy on the words. Sometimes he wishes he wasn’t the type of person who had to do this, who could more easily be silly and careless and spontaneous.

In his periphery, Ten shifts, huffing a sigh and turning his eyes up to the ceiling impatiently. A soft part of Sicheng, something deep in his chest, warms like cookie dough in a hot oven, going gooey.

He quite likes this silly, careless, spontaneous man.

The glass-paned office door swishes airily, suddenly, and Sicheng glances its way just as Kun strides in, attache case in hand and tie half-loosened. He snaps the padfolio in his other hand shut and looks up, sharp eyes finding Sicheng and melting to something warmer, and Kun smiles.

“So we’re in here today, why?” Kun asks, his exhaustion from the day only visible to the trained eye, in the slight downward tilt of his shoulders and rim of red around his eyes.

Kun.

Sicheng’s back loosens, his posture gentling with every second the other man spends in the room. That’s right, that’s right. Sicheng _can_ be softer, less precise. Because of this man, who takes the weight of everything for him.

With a plaintive sound, Ten calls Sicheng’s attention back to where he sits, being exceptionally successful at keeping quiet for so long. Kun’s eyes flick to him as well, then back to Sicheng, and his eyebrows lift.

“You're…frustrated. Why? Is he misbehaving?”

Ten shakes his head emphatically.

“I think he’s made up for it now,” answers Sicheng, giving Ten a nod and waving his hand.

“My intentions are totally admirable!” Ten defends instantly, the moment he has freedom, swiveling on the leather to convince Kun. “Any good sugar baby would have done the same thing!”

Kun pauses, startled. “Wh...ah, alright? I think I will need...more context than that.”

As Ten launches into the story, Sicheng scrolls through the website once more, and...well, there’s something to what Ten’s saying. Ill-advised as the whole thing strikes Sicheng—and it strikes like a wrecking ball—he can recognize them. The reasons why. After all, he has two of his own.

“Let me have a look at it,” Kun says a few minutes later, coming to slide a hand over Sicheng’s shoulders, squeezing the tense muscle there as he leans toward the screen. His eyes flit back and forth, lips turning down as he reads. “This is uncomfortable,” he states.

“Yes.”

“What have you done about it?”

Sicheng clicks over to his submission and gestures to it, letting Kun hum and read again. As he does, Ten slinks to Sicheng’s other side, crouching to rest his head against Sicheng’s forearm on the armrest and peer up at the computer. 

He lets out a low sound of wonder. “Wow you...really went in on them. What does that all even say?”

Kun clicks his tongue. “You need to edit, Sicheng. Be direct.”

“But I want them to understand—”

“They’ll understand. You lose power this way. Trim it, and simplify the signature.” 

Putting his hands back to the keyboard, Sicheng pouts almost as much as Ten had previously, but does as he’s told. Kun isn’t as successful, and consequently wealthy, as he is for no reason.

Sicheng types a second draft.

_To whom it may concern,_

_I hope this contest is sincere, because if not, the joke is not funny._

_You seem to mean well. Regardless, your presentation of this concept is lacking and embarrassing to this community. It is questionable at best and threatening at worst._

_Either take it seriously, or take it down._

_Taking the website down: Cancel the contest, expunge all information given within the current entries. Contact all entrants to communicate your cancellation and the safeties you have taken. I will ensure that you follow through._

_Taking this contest seriously: You must do this properly. That will mean providing…_

  * _Specific detail about the collection and protection of information._
  * _Details for the method of the winner’s determination process and an official in-person awards ceremony._
  * _A direct method of contact for any questions/concerns for all entrants._
  * _Limitations to the nature of relationships admitted; specifically, the contest will be limited to either homosexual-exclusive, or heterosexual-exclusive arrangements. If I have to explain to you why, then just cancel it._



_As you evidently needed assistance from the start, if you choose the latter option, I volunteer my services for your guidance._

_I will look forward to your response within the next week, or I will make the decision for you._

_Best Wishes,_

_Xx._

“Better,” Kun approves with a half-smile, once Sicheng brings the laptop to him in the living room.

Sicheng hums a response and taps the button to complete entry, then closes his laptop and sets it on one of the three matching, different-sized coffee tables made of polished, lacquered cross-sections of maple. He slumps into Kun’s side on the couch, letting himself go boneless against the warmth that seeps through from Kun’s body. 

“Where’s Tennie,” he mumbles.

“Speaking to Jaehyun, some question about the restaurant. It’s been a few minutes.” Kun closes the book he’d been reading into his lap and starts combing through Sicheng’s hair instead, fingers slowing to massage behind his ears every so often. “You did a good thing, love,” he says.

“Feels like I’m inviting a mess onto my plate.”

“Maybe.” Kun kisses his hair. “But no one handles messes with the grace you do.”

Sicheng huffs lightly, because the flattery flusters him a little, even if he agrees. Then Ten returns, shuffling into the room with a seriousness in his face that dissipates like smoke when he looks up from his phone. He glides the rest of the way to the couch and, with a careful eye on Kun, silently asks whether he can join them.

Sicheng shifts to lay more lengthwise, and opens his arms wide.

Ten deposits himself over Sicheng like a blanket.

“You’re done,” he breathes into Sicheng’s clavicle, “is it finally cuddle time?”

“It is finally cuddle time, yes,” Sicheng agrees, and wraps his arms around Ten’s shoulders, confident that Kun won’t mind utilization as a pillow.

Holding and behind held, Sicheng breathes a little calmer and finds himself hoping the email response he gets is the right one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it a surprise? did u guess them? :)) how do we feel!!


	7. Half-Baked Ideas Make for Crumbly Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's get down to business...

Meeting at their apartment means Jaemin has to spend thirty minutes dusting off the...every surface, and making sure there’s something more than old soy sauce in their fridge. There isn’t, so he determines that they’ll just order something for delivery and concentrates on clearing off the piled-up stuff on their dining table. He’s not even sure when it got like this, a disorganized pile of random mail, half-empty shopping bags, empty paper coffee cups, flyers Jeno was too nice to refuse when shoved at him on the street, and crap Jaemin vaguely recognizes as having once been emptied from his backpack. He clears half of the mess into the bin for recycling and finds a hat Jeno’s been convinced he misplaced at Doyoung’s place for the past two weeks.

Jaemin stares at the hat for a minute, running back their calendar in his head. He glances at where Jeno has mostly cleared the couch of the clothing he sorted out to donate…how many weeks ago?

With a stack of sweaters balancing perilously in his arms, Jeno looks up and smiles sheepishly. “We really let this place go, huh?”

“On the contrary,” says Jaemin, after a moment’s breath, “we left it.” Something pricks him internally, like a weird point of ache. He inhales deeply and cracks his neck, shakes out his shoulders. Not the time to mull over their poor household stewardship.

Jeno dusts off their cheap coffee table with a swipe of his sleeved forearm and tips sideways to collapse lengthwise onto the couch. He releases a pronounced sigh. 

The table has enough space for four people to have a conversation—two of them will have to sit on the same one side, but Jaemin doesn’t mind it—and at least one laptop, so Jaemin abandons the rest of it and goes over to his boyfriend, dropping a knee into the available space between Jeno’s legs. Jeno watches, unmoving, while Jaemin climbs over him, fitting his other knee into the space between the couch and Jeno’s thigh, and hands bracing over his shoulders.

“You cleaned for ten minutes and you’re worn out already?” Jaemin coos, amused.

“I’m used to a pampered life now. I’ve become delicate,” replies Jeno, laying the back of his hand over his forehead daintily.

The firm ridges of muscle in his torso that Jaemin kneads the heel of his palm into over Jeno’s sweater suggest otherwise. “Doesn’t feel that way…” His hand dips under the hem, smoothing up bare skin.

Jeno unshields his face to blink at Jaemin, a twitch in his lips.

“They’re gonna be here in like four minutes,” he says.

Jaemin opens his mouth— 

“If you’re about to make a joke about that being just enough time, consider: don’t.”

“Well,” Jaemin sniffs, ungracefully letting his weight drop on Jeno, who lets out an ‘oof,’ “I was going to say it’s  _ more _ than enough time, but—” he removes the hand not propping his head up over Jeno’s shoulder out from under Jeno’s sweater and waves it with flourish, “—semantics.”

He gets a shove at his hip, and returns by resting his hand against Jeno’s cheek.

God. Jaemin really could stare at him till he turns to dust. Till Jaemin does, that is. Jeno seems no more capable of decay than any of those ancient marble statues they build museums for. 

Jeno looks up at him, wordless, guileless. Jaemin traces his cheekbone.

“I am…” he starts.

The door buzzes. Outside it, Mark and Donghyuck’s voices—an audible collision of words and tones—echo in the hallway.

“…super-fucking-in-love-with-you.” He dips to peck Jeno’s lips then pushes off the couch—chest twinkling warm like a jar of fireflies as always—and skips to the door, which is suffering an impatient series of knocks. “Calm down, I’m coming!”

Mark and Donghyuck look like they’ve been through three rounds in a verbal boxing ring as they slide inside past Jaemin and instinctively aim for the open table. There's fatigue in Mark’s face, dark circles shadows of strain under his eyes, and Donghyuck’s wearing a frown that paints his usually cute features sour. They take the two side-by-side chairs, which Jaemin had expected himself and Jeno to use; he decides not to question their choice.

Donghyuck’s saying, “It’s about proving something, now. Like, I’m going to use the expression ‘shit just got real,’ because it did.”

“What are you proving?” Jeno asks, shuffling over to the table while settling his sweater back at his hips. Jaemin follows him and gentles a hand into the hair at his nape to momentarily squeeze as he passes, enjoying the sudden flush that highlights Jeno’s face as he takes his seat.

“You read the email, right?”

Jeno nods.

“Proving we aren’t stupid, for one,” Donghyuck says. “And for two, that we can totally do this for real.”

Mark puts his face in his hands. “It’s not a good idea.”

“It never  _ was  _ a good idea, Mark hyung,” Donghyuck retorts, and Mark looks just mildly startled. “It was half-baked and silly and we  _ knew  _ that. Now we have to  _ make  _ it a good idea.”

While Mark peers at Donghyuck like he’s just realized Donghyuck’s Korean, Jaemin taps a fingernail on the table. The email had...rankled him, yeah. It wasn’t the first time he’d been called out for behaving rashly, but it was maybe the most soundly. And while Jeno had sort of just hummed and scratched at his neck, Jaemin had imagined telling Doyoung that the award wasn’t real, or had been some kind of hoax, or a gag, and wondering what followup questions there would be, and feeling that disapproval shift from this nameless person in their inbox to the man paying their tuition. 

He hadn’t liked that feeling and he doesn’t like it any more the second time thinking about it.

“I think between the four of us we can like, figure this out.”

Hands resting still on the table, Jeno keeps his eyes fixed on them, quiet.

“Right?” says Donghyuck. “We’re young but not incapable of things. This is doable.”

“What all are we supposed to do, again?” asks Jeno gently.

They walk through the email, Mark reading aloud and softening the impressive scolding tone out of it, which Jaemin appreciates. The part about hosting a live, people-physically-present award ceremony makes his shoulders tense up once again.

Mark tugs at his hair. “We really don’t know anything about event hosting.”

“I’ve been to plenty of events,” Donghyuck argues, like that’s the same thing, “I’m sure I can do it.”

“Okay, then Donghyuck is in charge of planning the whole occasion,” Jaemin confirms. 

Donghyuck looks at him sharply, then tries to kick his chair under the table, but Jaemin shoves himself back just fast enough, and Mark snorts. 

“Seriously though, I mean like, really truly. I think shutting this down is our best option. Whoever this is, they’re giving us a kind of an out, you know? Stop now, take care of some uncomfortable tie-ends, and let it go. Stress over. The powerful people I was afraid of already found out, because that’s this person—”

“What if they’re bluffing?”

The table groans subtly as Mark leans his elbow onto it, meeting Jeno’s questioning eyes.

“Does it sound like a bluff to you? It doesn’t to me. And I’d rather not test it.”

“I guess.”

“What I’m saying is,” continues Mark, “we don’t have anything to prove, because we’re still anonymous right now. We sacrifice a little pride, but that’s it. No getting in over our heads by committing to something that’s outside our scope. Life can resume as usual.”

As usual, Jaemin thinks. As usual, where they talk about school and the trendy tv shows and what they shopped for last, where they ate. Wherein Mark only meets them when he’s not pinched between classes and freelance work and volunteering, and Jeno texts them all the funniest names he takes for orders on his occasional shifts at the coffee house, and Donghyuck wheedles them into clubbing or karaoke more often than any of them really want to do either. That ‘usual’. In which Jaemin thinks at least once a day about what he can do to keep in Kim Doyoung’s good graces just like Jeno always is so effortlessly.

“You…don’t think I can do it.”

Jaemin’s train of thought stations when Donghyuck speaks. His voice is uncharacteristically vacant, eyes trained on Mark and lacking spark or fire.

Mark sucks in a breath. “That wasn’t what I said.”

“I heard what you said. I’m saying that’s what you  _ think.” _

“Don’t try to re—”

Jaemin feels Jeno nudge his knee. “Do you want to do it?” Jeno asks, softly, but clearly enough in his deep voice that Mark cuts off his own words.

“It doesn’t seem impossible to me,” decides Jaemin. “Challenging, time-consuming, but possible. It doesn’t have to be huge. I bet we can plan a nice, moderately sized dinner somewhere, hand someone an engraved plaque, and call it a success.”

Mark remains obviously unconvinced, but Jeno relaxes back in his chair less tense than before.

“I’m alright with that. Clean up the website more, plan a small, manageable event, call it a wrap.”

Donghyuck turns in his chair to face Mark head on, crossing his arms. “Well, Lee Mark? Are you going to help or hinder?”

Chewing at his lips, Mark glances around the table at each of them; Jaemin can practically see his resolve melt as his eyes pass over their faces, ending with the platinum confidence that is Lee Donghyuck.

“Fine,” says Mark, but with no less firmness than his previous assertions. “Fine. We do it right, like Xx here demands. But we’re going to have to sit down and divvy up responsibilities, keep track of things…I’m gonna make a spreadsheet.” 

He does just that, Jaemin assumes from the way his eyes focus and his hands start sprinting across the keys. Donghyuck stares at the side of Mark’s face for a second, his own expression tight, and then scoots closer to look over his shoulder and make comments.

Jaemin turns his attention to Jeno. “Ready to go batshit, baby?” he asks, because suddenly the whole thing strikes him as a little hilarious again. 

He gets a wink in return. “With you? Always. I’m gonna order some food. Where’s my phone.”

Jeno goes to rummage through his jacket pockets, and Jaemin tilts his head back to inspect the indistinct pattern in the ceiling. He feels a little bubbly…excited even. Mark is mumbling something about needing to meet weekly for planning and progress check-ins, and Jaemin thinks…yeah. This is better than ‘as usual.’

— 

The car drops Mark off at the campus library before taking Donghyuck back to Taeil’s. It’s a quiet drive; Donghyuck doesn’t ask for the radio on or put in his headphones. He doesn’t scroll social media or even do any mindless online shopping. He just sits, letting his eyes lose focus out the window as the cars, buildings, and lights all fuzz out into a multicolored blur in his vision. 

Dimmed lights meet him when he codes into home; it’s late, later than he thought he’d return when he left, so Donghyuck leaves his shoes at the door and walks in silence to the kitchen for a cup of water, then heads directly to the master suite. 

Taeil is reading with the bedside lamp on, cozy in his pajamas and glasses in the way that makes Donghyuck’s heart ache like crazy.

Donghyuck doesn’t bother with greetings or pajamas, but simply strips down to his briefs and slides under the bed covers to curl right up into Taeil’s side, hugging his arm and burying his face in the cotton of his shirt. Taeil is warm and smells like fabric softener and expensive soap, which is how Donghyuck knows he showered recently before settling in—a pity for Donghyuck to miss, since catching him in his shower routine means Donghyuck can usually join him and make the chore much nicer for them both.

He sighs as Taeil begins petting his hair.

“You believe in me, right hyung?”

Taeil hums agreeably and scratches lightly behind Donghyuck’s ear.

“Like,” Donghyuck continues, “if I said I would do something, you wouldn’t doubt I could do it, would you?”

There’s the soft thump of pages reconvening, and when Donghyuck looks up Taeil is setting his book aside, then shifting so that he can cradle Donghyuck’s face in one hand while the other continues to stroke through his hair.

“Doubt you?” he laughs. “You’re an unstoppable force when you want to be, Donghyuck.”

“So you think I could do it?”

“Very much so.”

“You believe in me.”

“I’d be interested to meet the person who thinks you can be prevented from it when you want something.”

Donghyuck stuffs his face back into Taeil’s sleep shirt to hide his eye-roll and snort. But Taeil draws him back out, cupping his cheeks.

“What are you not confident about?”

Not for the first time, Donghyuck wonders if Taeil had his interior designer stare deeply into his eyes on a quiet evening and then use what they found there as inspiration for the bedroom’s aura concept. He feels wrapped in peace, in clement relaxation; the blankets thick and warm over where his legs brush soft material to intertwine Taeil’s, and his arms so naturally circle Taeil’s waist he’s not even sure when he put them there. But even all these sensations don’t match the feeling of Taeil looking at him like this, all the affection and faith in the world.

Which is why it feels awful to lie, even when it’s not over something bad.

“Nothing, some pieces my teacher isn’t sure I’m ready to sing. It’s fine,” Donghyuck says, voice becoming more a mutter with every word.

He goes to bury his face once again, and stops when Taeil holds him steady. It’s to lean in and press a long kiss to Donghyuck’s mouth, his lips smooth and breath minty aromatic. 

Donghyuck lets it consume him, then pushes up to ask for more.

“Ah ah,” Taeil halts him with a huffed laugh, “you didn’t wash up.”

“Please, do I have to?” groans Donghyuck, dropping his forehead to Taeil’s shoulder and trying to sneak his fingers in between the buttons of his pajamas.

Taeil’s hand clasps his fingers and holds them captive, arrested from their wandering.

“Well I don’t know where you’ve been all day. Go brush your teeth and wash your sweet little face, at the very least.”

That’s his no-argument tone, Donghyuck knows. Taeil has a few versions of it, this being the gentle one, but no less serious than his sterner voice. After another few, drawn out seconds of nuzzling into his neck, Donghyuck forces himself out of Taeil’s bed and drags his feet to the bathroom. He might as well do it all, he thinks, twisting the shower handle and grabbing his toothbrush as the spray warms up, starting to scrub at his teeth even as he dips under the water. If he’s sparkling clean, Taeil will be more likely to give in to him when he returns, indulging whatever Donghyuck decides he wants.

As long as he hasn’t fallen asleep.

Donghyuck speeds up his efforts, sloshing shampoo out of the bottle and into his hair.

Taeil just admitted, in so many words, that he’s among the ones who can’t prevent Donghyuck from his desires, and Donghyuck is eager to put that to the test.

**Author's Note:**

> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/ImJaeBabie)   
> or twt @imjaebabie


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